Something Smells Rotten in Deep Space
by 1note
Summary: Our heroes find themselves in an embarrassing situation. Keep your eyes peeled for a special cameo!


**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine or any of its characters (more's the pity).**

****************************************************************************

The seal broke. The contents of Storage Crate 110r-6A escaped, drawn by the promise of food. They didn't have to search far.

* * * * *

Ensign Worly approached the station's cargo by with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. Yet another inventory. If the newly minted ensign didn't get assigned something different soon he might be tempted to apply for a job at Quark's. At least then he'd get _paid_ for this kind of monotonous work, albeit very little. With a bored sigh at the ready, the young ensign slapped the door's access panel. The stench cannoned into his unsuspecting nostrils, overwhelming all other senses and prompting his brain to shut down in desperation. The unconscious Worly was discovered half an hour later when a masked team of engineers tracked down the source of the vomit-inducing odor that soon permeated the entire level.

* * * * *

At times like this, Odo was grateful he didn't have a sense of smell.

"Oh god…" Captain Sisko's hand flew to his plastic-encased mouth, "The filter in this mask isn't working."

"Actually, it is, sir," O'Brien answered weakly, also masked. His normally ruddy features had taken on a decidedly greenish cast. "Whatever these things are, their odor's so strong it's started to blister the paint on the hull."

The Captain thought his Chief of Operations was exaggerating until he took a closer look at the nearest wall. Good lord! His dark eyes swiveled to the writhing pile of football-sized slugs taking up a sizeable portion of the floor space. Several unfortunate ensigns and their Bajoran counterparts struggled to herd the malodorous creatures back into their now overturned crate using long-handled push brooms. Slime glistened on the floor plates and broom heads.

"What the hell are these things?"

Odo responded, "According to the manifest, they are Zardeekan land-mollusks. Some species consider them a delicacy." He sniffed in distaste, an action none dared copy.

O'Brien's eyes widened. "People actually _eat_ these bloody things?" Behind him, one of the cleanup crew gagged.

The Security Chief smirked. "This from a man who eats limburger cheese."

"That's different! That's--_urk!_" The Chief suddenly dashed to the nearest strategically placed bucket. He barely got his mask off in time. As the tortured sounds of retching filled the cargo bay, Odo smoothly continued, "The land-mollusks are typically transported in stasis to avoid this sort of unpleasantness. I've examined their crate and it appears the stasis unit sustained damage due to blunt force."

"Somebody broke into the crate?" Sisko stared at the oozing monstrosities. "Why?"

The shape-shifter shrugged. "Perhaps someone was hungry."

Sisko eyed the creatures warily. "They're not dangerous, are they?" he asked as O'Brien returned, his complexion a tad paler. Odo shook his head, "The owner assures me they're harmless."

"Oh *$!" There was a clatter of dropped brooms as the cleanup crew scurried away from the slithering pile. It didn't take the officers long to figure out why; from the mass of slug-like creatures, gleaming with a thick coat of slime, a skeletal hand jutted imploringly, white bones shining in the harsh artificial light.

* * * * *

"I assure you, Captain," the elderly Denobulan said in a level tone, "whatever caused that poor man's death was not due to my land-mollusks. They are incapable of digesting living tissue, which means the person your crewmen found must have died _before_ the mollusks started feeding."

Sisko held both hands out in a conciliatory gesture. "Until the autopsy verifies that, I'm afraid your mollusks will have to remain in our custody." He felt ridiculous even as he said that.

The alien nodded. "I understand. But should it be proven they did _not_ cause his death…?"

"They'll be turned over to you," the Captain promised.

"Thank you, Captain!" the Denobulan beamed, mouth stretching well beyond human capability. "My great-great-great granddaughter's wedding feast will not be the same without them."

_I'll bet. _Sisko shrugged modestly. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Phlox."

"It's Doctor, actually. Though I haven't practiced in many years," the aging Denobulan chuckled. Something went _ping_ in Sisko's subconscious. "Not _the_ Doctor Phlox who served under Captain Archer?"

Again, that disconcerting grin. "Why, yes! I'm flattered that you know of me."

"Well, back in my academy days I read everything about Earth's first warp-five starship that I could get my hands on." The Captain looked at the alien with newfound respect and not a little awe. Sitting across from his desk was a man who personally knew Jonathan Archer, captain of the _Enterprise NX-01_, a man who was instrumental in the founding of the United Federation of Planets. This was History, alive and in his office! "This is an unexpected honor."

A wry chuckle from the Denobulan. "Please, Captain. To paraphrase one of your species' charming colloquialisms, I am not all that I'm cracked up to be."

Sisko grinned. "Still, I'm thrilled to have someone from the history texts here in the flesh." He hesitated. "Would you mind if I asked a few questions?"

"About Archer?"

"And others from the _Enterprise_."

Phlox smiled. "I would be delighted." The two of them spent the next three enjoyable hours chatting about the historical vessel and her crew. Phlox never did figure out a tactful way to mention the smell.

* * * * *

Molly wrinkled her nose. "Daddy smells bad."

"Molly!" Keiko chided, even as she took shallow breaths through her mouth. Little Kirayoshi crawled to the other side of the living room.

O'Brien's shoulders sagged. "It's alright. I know I smell." Those bloody slugs! He'd already taken three showers since coming home and the scent still clung to him. He hadn't even _tried _to clean his uniform, just chucked the whole thing into the waste reclamator, boots and all.

"Maybe you should try an actual bath instead of a sonic shower," Keiko suggested.

O'Brien shrugged. "Might as well give it a shot." He rose from the couch and headed for the bathroom, much to his family's relief. He had the replicator produce its strongest-smelling soap and scoured his ruddy hide with a loofah sponge, all to no avail. That damned stink just wouldn't go away!

"Don't worry, sweetheart," his wife tried to reassure him later that night, "It's bound to fade eventually."

O'Brien nodded. He stood over the bed, already occupied by Keiko, who eyed him warily. "Want me to sleep on the couch tonight?"

"Um…if you wouldn't mind," Keiko delicate features crinkled in a grimace of guilt.

O'Brien sighed. "Alright." He shuffled out of the bedroom to spend a lonely night on the sofa.

* * * * *

Major Kira Nerys entered Odo's quarters and abruptly halted, the wrinkles on the bridge of her nose deepening. "What's that smell?"

Odo, resuming his humanoid form after mimicking the surface of a textured stone, frowned in puzzlement. "What smell?"

The Bajoran cupped her hand over her nose and mouth. "Ugh! It's like something rotten! Did a vole die in the air duct?"

"There hasn't been a vole outbreak in months." A sense of dread began to creep up on the Constable.

"I can't stand it." Kira headed for the door. "Let's get out of here." Out in the corridor she heaved a sigh of relief, only to gag when the stench assaulted her once again. The door hissed shut behind Odo. "It's you!" she accused her lover, putting some distance between them, hand once again cupped over her nose in a vain attempt to blot out the worst of the stink. "What the hell have you been doing?"

The constable's normally blank visage looked sheepish.

* * * * *

Doctor Bashir exited the isolation chamber through the airlock, let the decontamination sequence scour his biohazard-suited body with caustic vapor, stripped out of the suit and tossed it into the waste receptacle, then stepped through the other airlock into the regular infirmary. One whiff of the corpse was enough for the doctor to take these admittedly absurd precautions; if he hadn't, that body would have stunk up the place forever. Bashir tapped his combadge. "Bashir to Odo."

"_Go ahead."_

"I've finished the autopsy, Constable. I can give you the results now, if you'd like."

"_Er, actually, I think I'd prefer to hear it in person,"_ the odd hesitation in the gruff changeling's voice brought a frown to the young doctor's face. _"I'll be at the infirmary in a few minutes. Odo out."_

"Hunh!" Bashir shrugged and made his way to his desk to finish some paperwork. The comm beeped. _"O'Brien to Bashir."_

The doctor tapped his badge. "Go ahead."

"_Er, Julian…d'you mind if I drop by in a few minutes? There's something I kind of need your help with."_

"Sure," Bashir shrugged, then wondered why he bothered since the Chief couldn't see him, "I'm sure I can squeeze you in."

"_It's a _private _matter, you understand,"_ O'Brien's said, voice tense.

Again, that useless shrug. "Well, that's why they call it doctor-patient confidentiality."

"_Thanks, Julian. See ya in a few. O'Brien out."_

"Wonder what that's all about," Bashir muttered. He picked up a padd.

Beep! _"Sisko to Bashir."_

The doctor sighed.

* * * * *

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir." That was what Quark _meant _to say, but since his bulbous nose was currently pinched shut by a stout hairclip hastily pilfered from one of the Dabo-girls, what came out was, "I'b go-wink tuh hab tuh ask oo tuh leeb, dir."

Ensign Worly paused with his synthale halfway to his mouth while his brain translated. "Why?"

Quark indicated the bar with a wave of his hand. Aside from Worly, the only other customer situated at the bar was the ever-faithful Morn, and the only reason he was able to remain in his seat was because he'd doused a napkin with whiskey and then tied the damp fabric around his face bandit-style, lifting it out of the way only in those brief moments he wished to take a hasty sip from his drink. As for the rest of the establishment, none of the tables in the ensign's vicinity were occupied. People were keeping their distance, and despite his fervent self-denial, Worly knew why. He stank. Ever since that damned run-in with those godawful slug-things. The smell just wouldn't go away, no matter how many baths or showers he took.

"Pleez leeb, dir," the Ferengi barkeep honked, "Mbeefor I gall Theh-curiddy."

Red-faced with humiliation, the smelly pariah rose from the barstool and slouched for the exit, the bar's patrons parting before him like the Red Sea. Worly wandered the Promenade while the ever-milling crowds gave him a wide berth. There had to be something wrong with him, the ensign thought to himself. No healthy human being should smell like this! Maybe he caught some sort of parasite from those slugs, or contracted an infection of some kind. Maybe it was going to get worse! With a shudder of dread, Worly altered his course for the infirmary. If anyone could figure out how to cure him, it was Doctor Bashir.

* * * * *

Bashir found himself in quite a predicament. The infirmary swarmed with men and women who were unfortunate enough to have spent more than a few minutes in the vicinity of those land-mollusks. The doctor feared all his precautions with the corpse might be for nothing as the collective odor began to permeate the crowded room. Bashir tried to breathe through his mouth, but then he could _taste_ it!

"Uh, I'm sure the odor will fade in time," he said, not at all certain.

"How _much _time?" Odo snarled.

"My family can't even stand to be in the same room with me!" O'Brien added, all but wailing.

Sisko stepped forward. "Doctor, isn't there any way you can remedy this? None of us can perform our duties to the best of our ability of no one else will come near us."

Bashir resisted the urge to lean away from his superior. "Well--"

The door hissed open. Everyone in the room tensed. Nurse Gilman entered the infirmary and wrinkled her petite nose. "What's that smell?"

Bashir felt the intensity of his patients' stares. He blinked his watery eyes. "I can't smell anything."

"You can't smell _that?_" Gilman waved a hand in front of her face. "Phaugh! Reminds me of the times my dog got skunked."

Constable Odo frowned. "Skunked?"

"It's an Earth animal," Sisko explained, "Defends itself by releasing a noxious musk."

Nurse Gilman nodded. "Yeah. Every time my dog got squirted I had to wash him in tomato juice to get rid of the stink."

"Of course!" Bashir exclaimed, startling everyone into looking at him, "Skunk musk is oil-based, which means ordinary soap doesn't work. You need to use something mildly acidic: tomato juice, lemon juice, vinegar…er, that is, if one were to find oneself afflicted with a malingering odor." He grinned at the puzzled nurse.

"Well!" Sisko clapped his hands, "Thank you for your time, Doctor. I expect we all have things we need to get done." _Like replicating a bathtub full of lemon juice._

"My pleasure!" Bashir called as the relieved crowd filed out. Already the unpleasant scent seemed to diminish.

"You really can't smell that?" Gilman asked as the last crewman left the infirmary.

"I'm sure it's your imagination." Bashir turned back to his desk only to glimpse the isolation room from the corner of his eye. "Oh, hell" He ran out the door. "Constable!"

Odo paused in front of an open turbolift. "Yes?"

"The autopsy results," the doctor skidded to a halt, his breathing only faintly heavier than normal from the exertion, "From what I could tell from the remains, it appears the victim died of cardiac arrest. His heart wasn't in the best of shape to begin with. Might've been triggered when he busted open that crate and got hit by the smell."

Odo snorted. "From the way everyone's been reacting, I wouldn't be surprised."

"What I don't understand is, why in the world would he break into a box of smelly slugs in the first place?"

Something akin to a smirk flitted across the shape-shifter's smooth features. "It might have something to do with a similar stasis-crate in the _next_ cargo hold filled with Xantian citrus-globes…and one stolen Neolithic artifact."

The doctor burst into laughter. "He opened the wrong crate?"

Odo nodded. "Something tells me our victim wasn't too bright."

"I guess not. Well then, everything's worked out for the best."

"Not yet." With a final nod, the Constable stepped into the lift.

_* * * * *_

Kira sat cross-legged under the larger domelike sculpture in the middle of Odo's quarters and watched as the changeling rose from his trusty old bucket and reshaped himself into his humanoid form. Yellow droplets rolled off him and pattered onto the carpet, unheeded. The Constable presented himself to the Bajoran woman, arms held out from his sides. "Well?"

Kira rose from the floor and stepped out from under the sculpture. She approached the tall shape-shifter with a critical eye, leaned towards him and sniffed. Her dark brown eyes met his and she smiled. Kira wound her arms around Odo's slender frame, rested her head against his shoulder. "Mmm, lemony fresh."

Odo smiled.


End file.
